


(Days) Days are forgotten

by boybeaulieu



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Angst, M/M, agent!Damen, rebel!Laurent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boybeaulieu/pseuds/boybeaulieu
Summary: Rumors had it since the beginning that The Snake was some sort of urban legend, a cover up, a face invented by the rebels for propaganda. They described him as a heartless, ice cold, cast iron bitch. They described him as a firm leader, unforgiving and so devoted to the cause that he left his own family to die at the Regency’s mercy rather than back down from his ideals. He’s real, though, and he’s right in front of Damen.orThe Dystopian AU where the Regency has taken over after the War, a regime of lies and deception ruling over the city, hiding behind a façade of good intentions and new laws. The only hope for the truth to come out is the Resistance, never mind the fact that they're believed to be nothing but ruthless criminals. That is what Damen thought as well, until he met their leader.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, this is inspired by a post I saw on tumblr (http://sotakura.tumblr.com/post/172279675382/ok-just-hear-me-out-for-a-second-dystopian-au).  
> Enjoy!

Smoke, fire, destruction. The building crumbles to the ground. It happens fast, Laurent didn’t think something so big and sturdy and strong could fall so fast. He’s been proven wrong before, though, hasn’t he? The cloud of grey smoke that arises from the ground reminds him of a Second World War textbook photo, back when the education system was still somewhat impartial, when it stated facts instead of bending the truth to the Regent’s pleasure. Nicaise told him it’s getting worse, things are blurry and nobody really remembers how it is that they got to this point. Vaguely, Laurent recalls a book about spies and ministries and forbidden love, then sound catches up to him and he recoils. His blond hair flies around his face in disarray as the wind picks up, from up here the city is at his feet and that building that once stood tall and imposing is now nothing more that ashes and dust. With numb fingers he tugs up his mask, just over the bridge of his nose, and readies to leave. That building, it used to be his home. _De Vere Tower_ , his father on the attic floor, Laurent and Au –no, he won’t go there. After one last, lingering look, he turns around and starts running, jumping from roof to roof in a vain attempt to leave behind what used to be his, what used to be his future.

 

***

 

 “Unit 103, here’s agent Akielos, we’re about to break in.”

“Noted. Head north-east and beware sentinels, these little shits have eyes everywhere.”

Damen has to suppress a smile, the weight of his gun is a dangerous reminder of his mission, of the responsibility that falls on his shoulders. He is good at what he does, at fighting for the cause and protecting his people. The rebels are dangerous now, they evolved from anarchic graffiti on the walls of the city to arson and armed resistance, hurting innocent people because of their hunger for power and vendetta. If there is one thing Damen was taught, it’s justice. These people aren’t making justice, they aren’t honorable and they certainly represent a threat to the Regency, Damen will do everything he can to stop them.

“Damen.”

Nikandros, always on the other end of his intercom.

“Yes, sorry. We’re ready.” With an aborted gesture, he signals Aktis and Pallas to take their positions. It’s an easy mission, that’s why the Unit only sent three of their special agents: they are to enter an abandoned building that was recently sized by a group of rebels, their intel reported signs of suspicious activity up until a week ago, then everything went silent. The Unit suspects the rebels must have deemed the place too close to the Regency territory and moved somewhere less risky, but they might have left something behind, so Damen, Aktis and Pallas were instructed to scour the place and report back to HQ.

“When you’re ready, boss.” Whispers Aktis. Damen goes over the blueprint he memorized one last time before taking a deep breath and nodding, then they’re on.

They start with the ground floor and slowly move up to the roof, the first three floors are completely empty, no furniture, just concrete floors and concrete ceilings. The symbol is there, though, and that’s proof enough. At least on one wall of every single floor a dark blue, coiled snake takes shape under the moonlight, enclosed by a dark blue, bold circle. Damen finds himself tracing his fingertips over the marks, absentmindedly, but he stops dead in his tracks. Something is very wrong. When he snatches his hand back as if burned, his fingers are blue. The paint is fresh. Everything happens fast, then. They’re surrounded in a heartbeat, Damen raises his gun but doesn’t even try to fire it, a few bullets won’t make a difference especially when Damen always shoots to incapacitate, not to kill. The three of them are forced back to back, right in the middle of a rebels circle. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to be _alone_.

“Boss.” Hisses Aktis, “what the he-“

“Shut up!” Interrupts him one of the rebels. They’re dressed in black from head to toe, some of them wear hoods and masks over their faces, some don’t. The one who spoke does. “You’re Regency,” states the man, “that much is obvious, which is why we’re taking you with us.”

Pallas and Aktis shift uncomfortably at the words, they haven’t been given instructions from Damen yet and that is because he doesn’t _know_ what to do. There isn’t a procedure to follow in these situations, not when the odds are three to thirty and back up will take too long to arrive. The decision he makes is rushed and dangerous, but when he thinks about sweet Pallas and Aktis’ wife he doesn’t doubt the rightness of it.

“You don’t need all three of us. You take me and let the others go.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Pallas and Aktis surge in protest behind him. Their exclamations and refusals mesh into each other, ‘no’s are shouted and threats to shut them up for good come from the rebels’ mouths, right behind their raised guns. The man who seems to be in charge steps forward.

“You think I’ll do what _you_ tell me to do? I’m not letting two agents out of my sight or the person I do report to will probably have my head.” Of course, this man wasn’t _the_ man in charge, the Resistance is structured as a hierarchy just like every other respectable organization. Except, there is nothing respectable about them.

“We found nothing,” argues Damen, “our Unit obviously already knows about this place, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place. You won’t endanger yourself nor your people by letting them go, you’ll just save their lives.”

“What makes you think I care about their lives?”

And that –that is a bit of a punch in the gut. The rebel is right, why would he care about two Regency agents? It doesn’t matter that the Regency changed the city for the better, that they reduced criminality almost to the zero percent if it weren’t for the Resistance, that they guaranteed education for all, fought poverty and established connections and alliances with the other independent cities that survived the war. It doesn’t matter to them. God, if only they knew who Damen really was, they wouldn’t miss a chance like this to snatch him for themselves. For now, though, he is simply an agent and his partners are in danger.

“You’re human, aren’t you?” Answers Damen, the man regards him, silent. “You can leave them here, handcuffed and blindfolded so that they won’t be able to follow us.” Insists Damen, he’s digging his own grave and both his partners and Nikandros from HQ make sure to shout at him how stupid he’s being. In response, Damen tears off his earpiece and microphone, then he throws them to the ground before crunching them under his shoes. The man is still examining him, mulling Damen’s words over, Aktis and Pallas are tense behind him. Damen knew this job would be dangerous, he knew the chances of being captured or executed were high, but he was made for this. Kastor can be the one high up, the one with the money, the power and the glory, he wants to be on the field. For a fleeting moment, he thinks about Jokaste, then the rebel speaks.

“We have a deal.”

***

 

When they finally remove the hood from his head, Damen’s eyes struggle to adjust to the light in the room. It’s neon, two long stripes hung from the ceiling, a very low ceiling. A basement. With the first realization, something switches on in his mind and he takes in the room avidly. Except, there’s not much to take in: he’s tided up on a chair in the middle of the room, in front of him there’s a desk with a few envelopes on top and behind it there’s another chair. Other than that, the room is empty. Damen doesn’t really understand why they bothered with cuffs and ropes, after all they searched him for weapons and hidden devices before entering whatever building they are in. Maybe it’s his size, he _is_ a big guy. They brought him here in a car, his sight was restricted immediately but he’s a special agent and recognizing vehicles from sound alone isn’t exactly difficult. The ride took approximately thirty minutes in the middle of the night, which means that, whatever directions they drove in, they must be somewhere in the outskirts of the city. After that, things were more difficult. They dragged him down some stairs, then up and then down again. Three turns left, one right, another left. Then, down again. He could pretty easily make his way out if he were to escape, but something tells him that such carelessness on the rebels’ part must mean that the building is heavily secured. He’s so immersed in his thoughts that he jumps when the door behind him snaps open and closes a second after. There’s silence, after, which means that whoever entered is staring intently at his back. Finally, steps echo in the room and a figure materializes right in front of him. It’s a man, average height and slender. His skintight black jeans reveal well shaped legs, his black, military-like jacket is buttoned up to his chin and hides muscles that Damen can tell are present under all that fabric. He’s overall lithe but could hold his own in a fight, nothing compared to Damen, though. Of course, it’s also the kind of body that Damen would look at appreciatively in any other situation. The man must also be wearing a sweatshirt under the jacket, because there’s a hood pulled up over his forehead and a mask that covers half of his face. This man is nothing but a black shadow except for one thing only, a pair of eyes the deepest blue Damen has ever had the pleasure of seeing, beautifully shaped and heavily lashed. His eyebrows are blond, of course this would happen to no one other than Damen.

“A volunteer, I heard.” Speaks up the man, his voice muffled behind the fabric of his mask.

“Of course not.” Bites back Damen. The man leans graciously on the chair at his back, his posture relaxed, his words unhurried as if he’s telling him ‘don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.’ It irks Damen, his nonchalance, his raised head and jutted chin, as if he’s Damen’s better. If only he knew… But no, he can’t find out he has _Damianos Akielos_ in his hands or this entire situation will lead to one thing: death, Damen’s death.

“Really? Jord said you raised your hand and even said ‘please’, someone was taught good manners.”

It’s sarcastic and petty and Damen sees red. He clenches his jaw so hard, he’s afraid his teeth might shatter, but he can’t take the liberty to insult this man –this boy, actually, if those are the things he comes up with –unless he’s ready to fight God knows how many guards, which he’s not.

“If by saying ‘good manners’ you mean assuring my partners’ safety, then yes, I was taught good manners.” Silence stretches, after that. The man keeps his cool, although Damen can clearly see his eyes narrow for a split second before he pushes himself off the desk and takes a step forward right into Damen’s space. If his arms were free, he’d just need to extend one to get ahold of him and, with a few clever moves, get him incapacitated on the floor, then he’d just need to-

“Do you know who I am?” Asks the man, now in a crouch, elbows casually resting on his knees like an adult speaking to a child. Coddling. Suddenly, this turns into one of the rare times in his life that Damen actually _wants_ to kill someone.

“How should I know?”

At that, the man sighs, feigning disappointment while his eyes sparkle with something akin to amusement.

“Mh,” he hums, “I thought you smarter, guess sometimes I can be wrong, too.”

He’s got a mouth on him, that’s for sure. Damen is starting to fear for the outcome of this –whatever _this_ is, the man in charge of his fate seems to be nothing but a spoiled brat who likes to toy with his food before eating it. Left in his hands, Damen has no chance of making it out alive. Before he can even open his mouth and reply with some hostility of his own, the man stands up and goes back to his place at the desk. A leg crossed in front of the other, elegant and cocky, his arms crossed, too. A blond, arched brow.

“People call me The Snake.”

 _Oh_. Damen will not make it out alive.

The Snake: the rebels’ leader, the person behind every raid, the person who singlehandedly sparked the insurrection two years ago. Damen is shocked, he can’t believe The Snake is actually real. Rumors had it since the beginning that he was some sort of urban legend, a cover up, a face invented by the rebels for propaganda. They described him as a heartless, ice cold, cast iron bitch. They described him as a firm leader, unforgiving and so devoted to the cause that he left his own family to die at the Regency’s mercy rather than back down from his ideals. He’s real, though, and he’s right in front of Damen. Why would they even bring him to the absolute head of the group? Why would they bring a simple agent to The Snake? Unless… unless they know about Damen’s true identity, but no –no that is impossible. Whatever reason the rebels have for giving Damen so much importance, he needs to focus on keeping his identity a secret.

“Cat got your tongue?” Damen hears the smile in his voice, mocking.

“Why would _you_ bother with me?” Bites back Damen, after all, honesty usually is the best policy. The Snake, though, rolls his eyes in such a child-like way that Damen almost forgets he’s supposed to be a ruthless killer.

“Really?” He sighs, annoyed –at least, Damen thinks that the emotion behind those unforgiving eyes is annoyance, it’s a bit of a long shot when one doesn’t seem capable to express anything other than condescending mockery.

“Are we going to keep asking each other questions, or will you deign me of an actual conversation?”

Damen does have some arrogance of his own.

“First of all, that’s another question.” Points out The Snake, “second, I don’t think you understand how things work down here.”

“Believe me, I do. I understand that you’re nothing but a monster, that you instigated a revolution with no care whatsoever about those it would hurt. I understand that you let your own family die just for a-“

He doesn’t get to finish his rant, not when The Snake is in front him, so close he can count the specks of grey in his eyes. Not when he’s holding a knife to Damen’s throat.

“Do not,” hisses The Snake, “say another word about my family. Ever.”

The blade digs in, just enough for a rivulet of blood to spill from under Damen’s skin. There’s a fury behind those blue eyes that Damen recognizes all too well, it’s rage born out of hurt, hatred turning into thirst, thirst for revenge. It’s a look he’s seen only once, in another pair of blue eyes. Laurent De Vere, thirteen and splattered in blood, trembling after he watched Damen shoot his brother in the head. It wasn’t deliberate, it’s something that hunts him every single day of his life. It was a stray bullet, one that found its target in the middle of a storm, dust and death heavy in the air as _De Vere Tower_ was attacked by the Akielons. It doesn’t matter anymore, though, not to thirteen years-old Laurent De Vere. Because he’s dead, too.

 

***

They throw him in a cell, after The Snake storms out of the room and Damen’s left to his own devices. It’s Jord, assuming that he’s the one who reported to The Snake, but Damen is pretty good at what he does and unraveling hierarchic dynamics is part of the job. He thinks he’s there for a few hours, but keeping track of time gets harder and harder each second that he spends in the dark. No windows, a bench and, oddly enough, a pillow. When they come for him he’s blindfolded once again and dragged to the same, bare room, except this time The Snake doesn’t make an appearance. They interrogate him, Jord and another man who keeps making crude comments about Damen’s size. They ask him about the Regency’s new plans of action, about their new recruits and their intel. He barely answers two questions, pretending to be nothing but a simple soldier. They don’t buy it, of course, not when he’s given up his own life for his men’s. He changes tactics, then, he tells them he’s a colonel, which he _is_. Technically. That, they believe but, still, he doesn’t spill a single word. They’re getting antsy and, for a moment, Damen thinks they might kill him then and there. Lonely in an interrogation room, with several goodbyes bitter on his tongue, begging to be muffled in blond hair and black curls. Jokaste, Nikandros, Kastor. His family. Damen is someone who fought the third World War, he knows all about torture and murder and missed chances. He knows all about being nineteen and killing in cold blood to save his own life, to save the lives of his men. Funny how history does really repeat itself. Except, they don’t kill him. They leave him there after a few punches and scratches but they don’t kill him. He’s not even hurt that much, not really.

“You’re not talking.”

He hadn’t realized there was someone else in the room, The Snake must have come in when Jord and the other man left. He’s sneaky, Damen will give him that.

“I’m not.” Answers Damen. Calm, he needs to keep calm around this man or he might end up losing his remaining strength in a vain attempt to shut him up for good. They might have been merciful with his interrogation, but he hasn’t slept in two days and the amount of food and water they granted him was fit for a child, not a grown man. The Snake finally steps into his line of vision, dressed in black just like the first time Damen was, sarcastically, blessed with his presence. This time, though, he’s not wearing a hood and long, golden hair spills over his shoulders and down his back. It’s striking, thinking of a cold-blooded monster with flowing, luscious hair, thinking of The Snake letting it down instead of braiding it tight and unforgivingly. Something about it softens his image and it should be reassuring if not for the fact that when Damen blinks, he sees the same golden strands mattered in blood. Deep red, crusted and pungent, a pale, small hand tugging at them. He blinks again and finds himself back in the interrogation room. It’s not the same, this is not Auguste De Vere and there is no child trying to escape his hold, crying and begging as Damen drags him to safety.

“Do no make the mistake of thinking I’m above killing you, if you don’t prove yourself useful.” The mask is still high on The Snake’s face and muffles his words, black fabric creating a heavy contrast with his milky skin and blond hair.

“I think,” says Damen, “that if you really wanted to, you would have done it already. By now you should have realized I won’t tell you a thing.”

The Snake smiles, cold and condescending, Damen can tell, even if his mouth is covered. Damen also wants to punch him in the face.

“But we haven’t even started. If you think that was torture, it will be all too easy to make you sing once we really get to it.”

“How old are you?”

If the question surprises him, The Snake doesn’t show it.

“I’m not here to answer your questions.” He replies in stride.

“I’m not asking you about the rebels’ secrets,” scoffs Damen, “I’m just asking you your age.”

The Snake observes him quietly, almost long enough to make Damen give up on ever getting an answer, but then, finally, he speaks.

“Twenty.” It’s not valuable information, nothing anyone couldn’t have guessed taking a closer look at him. Still, a twenty year-old in charge of the Resistance sounds like a joke.

“You’re twenty, that means you weren’t old enough to fight during the War.” Starts Damen, “I was, and let me tell you something: I’ve experienced tortures you could never even think of, I’ve brushed against death so many times I lost count. You think _you_ can get me to betray my men’s trust?”

The Snake’s expression darkens considerably, his hands clench the desk so tight that his knuckles turn white. Damen can’t see half of his face, but he bets The Snake’s gritting his teeth, hard.

“Sensory deprivation, waterboarding, sleep deprivation… I could go on. Are you telling me you won’t talk? You’ve been blindfolded the whole time, we could easily let you go.”

“I don’t care. Don’t you understand? I will never, never risk the lives of the people I care about. I’d rather be dead than betray them.”

Damen is aware that he’s borderline shouting, but he can’t help it. The Snake watches him for a bit, silent. Then, he takes a step forward and another one, until he’s close enough to touch, if Damen’s hands were free.

“The people you care about.” He says, even. “What about the others?”

“The others who?”

The Snake laughs, it’s a strident sound. Nails on a chalkboard.

“You have no idea what the Regency does, do you? You have no idea who the Regent _is_.”

At that, Damen bristles.

“No, _you_ have no idea. The war destroyed everything, it destroyed people and places and morals. The Regency is the only thing keeping us from falling into an anarchic abyss, we have restored education, criminality is at its lowest as well as poverty. You, your people, this stupid Resistance are the ones endangering society.”

The Snake blinks, once, twice. And he walks away.

When he steps back into the room, Damen’s anger has deflated. He stands in front of Damen and throws an envelope in his lap. Damen gives him a look, hands bound behind his back. Is he supposed to read this?

“Since you have been clearly brainwashed by unsavory propaganda and corrupted superiors, I have decided to show you the light. I’ll tell you story and, if you decide to believe me, I’ll take off your cuffs and let you look at the envelope.”

“Why would I believe a single word that comes out of you mouth? And why would I want to look at this?” Asks Damen, gesturing to the heavy papers on his lap. The Snakes ignores the first question.

“Because it’s proof, proof that what I’m saying is true. Testimonies, old articles banished from publishing, photos, records of secret meetings and transactions… take your pick.”

He’s bluffing, he must be bluffing. If the Resistance had all of this, why wouldn’t they use it? He asks The Snake just that.

“Because,” he replies, “as long as the Regency is supported by the Akielons, we won’t be able to defeat them, military speaking. Even if the whole population were to arise, the Renegy and the Akielon armies would be invincible. Information like this needs to be released at the right time.”

It makes sense, of course it makes sense. It doesn’t mean it’s the truth. Damen has spent his whole life believing in black and white, good and bad. This is something that finds its place right in the middle, in the grey area where morals and ideals come to die. He has nothing to lose, though. He’s being held captive with no way out, the least he can do is listen to this story and make up his own mind. There is no chance he will believe what The Snake is about to tell him, he’s seen what good the Regency does firsthand, but the envelope on his knees is tantalizing. It’s there and it’s waiting for Damen to open it. He supposes he could always lie just to get his hands on those papers, he can recognize forgery, he’ll be able to realize if The Snake is bluffing. If he’s not, well, that’s entirely another story.

“Alright.” He nods. The Snakes takes in a breath and starts talking.

“Before we start, you should probably know that we know who you are, Damianos Akielos. And don’t-“ he adds as Damen subconsciously starts trying to escape his bonds, “don’t make a fool of yourself, if I wanted you dead I would have already killed you, you said it yourself.”

He pauses, Damen can hear his heart beat. It’s so loud it seems to echo in the room.

“Your name is the reason why I’m giving you this chance. If you decide to believe my story, you’ll become part of the Resistance yourself and you’ll help us win the Akielons’ trust.”

Damen is shaking his head.

“I’ll never be one of yours!” He shouts, but The Snake looks unperturbed. ”What if I choose not to believe you, then? Are you going to kill me? Are you going to keep me here forever?”

The Snake doesn’t answer any of his questions, he stays there, standing with his back straight and his chin raised defiantly. His eyes are stone, his hair in disarray. He tells Damen his story. He tells Damen a story about two brothers (dead), a father (dead) and an uncle so hungry for power that he killed his own family. A story about perfect timing and discretion, about secret business deals and secret trafficking (human trafficking). About brainwashed children and zombie citizens, criminals rewarded for being criminals, corrupted politicians and an entire society built on lies. The real shock comes when Damen looks through the envelope and finds everything he needs for his mind to short circuit. It’s all there, proof of every illegal activity, of every hired mercenary and assassin. One picture, Damen watches for a long time. It’s a corpse, blond hair and a hole in the middle of his forehead. He can feel the blood on his hands. The Snake takes ahold of the page and promptly turns it, hiding Damen’s biggest regret from his eyes. The next picture is not much better, maybe it’s even worse. It’s another blond, but it’s a child this time. Face down, right where Damen had hidden him, where Damen thought he would be safe. It makes him nauseous.

“The-the De Vere child.” He says, his voice is raspy.

“Yes.” Replies The Snake, always so composed, almost like a robot.

“I took him away.” Says Damen, he can faintly feel his head shaking, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Well, he can’t. He always thought that Laurent De Vere had died after, he always thought he had somehow evened the scales, killing one and saving the other. He hasn’t. “I was there, I remember. It was my first raid and I- he was so- I just grabbed him and hid him and he was supposed to be _safe_.”

He can’t stop looking at this picture, either. A head of blond hair, a grey t-shirt and pajama pants. Pajama pants. God, they attacked in the middle of the night, they were _sleeping_.

“Well, you did kill his brother. Maybe he went running after his body, what a fool.” Snaps The Snake. He _snaps_ , Damen has never heard him so expressive. But then-

“How do you know that?”

The Snake seems to falter, just for a tenth of a second.

“Everybody knows that.” And with that he’s gone, leaving Damen alone with a handful of incriminating material and all his certainties threating to shatter. Maybe they already did.

 

***

Black doesn’t suit him, he’s used to red, red, red and these clothes accentuate the pallor that spread over his skin in the last few days. They also barely even fit, none of the rebels seem to match him in size and The Snake certainly couldn’t stand the sight of that color any longer. So here he is, still trying to figure out why the hell he decided to go along with this plan, wearing tight black pants and a black t-shirt, trying to keep up with Jord as the man takes him on a tour of their HQ. It’s bold of The Snake to trust Damen so easily after he agreed to work with them on dismantling the Regency. He could be lying, he could be waiting for the perfect occasion to slip away and reveal their position to its troops. He won’t, though, and somehow The Snake knows that. Maybe it’s in his look, Jokaste used to tell him he can’t lie to save his life. Jokaste. She’s happy now, pregnant with Kastor’s baby while Damen still can’t help that burning in his gut every time he sees her. They had been broken up, she didn’t do anything bad but, still, why Kastor of all people? Why would Kastor choose her when he knew perfectly well that Damen hadn’t been the one to call it off. It’s Jokaste, though, of course he would choose her. His doubts about Kastor are another source of anxiety, especially now that he can’t help but question whether his brother is aware of the Regency’s true nature or not. It makes something unpleasant twist in his stomach.

“One last thing, Akielos.” Says Jord, “The Snake might be sure of his decision, but we don’t trust you. If you try to harm him in any way, we’ll kill you.”

It’s odd, hearing such words of devotion in regards to The Snake of all people, a cold-hearted, cast iron bitch.

“Why so protective?” Asks Damen, “I’m sure he could hold his own in a fight.”

Jord gives him a dirty look.

“Trust me, he can, but I’ve seen you spar with Lazar.”

Damen is a good fighter and he knows it, he also knows that as skilled as The Snake might be, he would never be able to beat Damen. It’s simply the truth, being modest wouldn’t do any good.

“You’re afraid I might hurt him.” He says. Then, carefully: “are you his lover?”

Jord’s eyes widen comically, he takes a step back as if pushed.

“What? No, no. A man with –certain _intentions_ wouldn’t be able to touch him with a ten feet pole, let alone sleep with him. The call him a cast iron bitch for a reason.”

“They also call him a monster.” Says Damen. Jord clicks his mouth shut, his expression hardens and, suddenly, he looks almost angry.

“That’s bullshit. The Regent spread lies about him the moment he turned his back to them, all that stuff about leaving his family to die is complete, utter bullshit.”

Jord has no reason to lie, what he says can only be true. His words imply that The Snake used to be part of the Regency, it is a well known rumor among the people, just like the one about him being nothing but a stunt for propaganda, when he is very much a real person, and the one about him being Auguste De Vere and faking his own death, when Damen has seen a bullet lodge itself into his forehead.

“What is he like then, if you rebels respect him so much?”

Jord inhales sharply and looks at him straight in the eyes.

“Just.”

The conversation ends there as they finish the tour and Damen is whisked away by another rebel he has never seen before. He is ushered though the building and brought in front of a heavily secured door, then he is told The Snake is waiting for him on the other side. Damen takes a deep breath and enters.

He didn’t expect what he is greeted with, he didn’t expect The Snake to be sitting in a chair with no hood or mask whatsoever to cover his features. He is- well, he is beautiful. Objectively beautiful. He looks untouchable, sitting there with his back straight and his eyes cold, with his plump lips pressed so tight together that they lose any trace of sensuality. His jacked is still laced tight up to his neck, his hair is gathered in a high ponytail this time, not a single hair out of place. Damen finds himself frozen on the spot, intimidated by his sheer beauty as much as he is by the cold, unmerciful vibe he puts off.

“Tell me, why is Kastor on the board and not you?”

Damen blinks.

“Excuse me?”

If The Snake notices Damen’s fascination, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gestures at Damen to take a seat on the chair in front of his. A desk between them, shelves full of folders and books and boxes surround them.

“You are the rightful heir to your father’s legacy, you were the one that the Regent wanted by his side, so why is Kastor making decisions about your people?”

It hadn’t been a hard choice, giving up his place on the board once the truce was stable enough for the city to unite. With so many losses and destruction the only way to survive had been building an entire new city from scratch, meshing Akielon and Veretian culture. The first year had been disastrous.

“I wanted to be on the field, where it mattered. I don’t care about the power and glory, I care about making a difference.”

It’s the truth, the war taught him who the real heroes are. It taught him that it all comes down to them, in the end, to those who risk their lives fighting tooth and nail in a chaos of bullets and blood.

“You could have made a real difference if you had been up there with the Regent and his allies.” Bites back The Snake.

“How could I’ve known they’d do all of this?” Bursts Damen, “Kastor always seemed so-so _proud_ of the Regency and what they created and I didn’t want to take that from him, not when I was fine with being a colonel.”

“Yes, well, Kastor is as much of a criminal as the Regent.”

And that –that is a punch in the stomach. He knows, deep down, that Kastor must have been aware of the Regent’s plan, he knows that he must contribute in order to keep his place on the board. In order not to be killed. Still, there’s a part of him that wants to deny it all, think of Kastor as a naïve man with no clue whatsoever about the true purpose of the Regency.

“What do you mean?”

The Snake shows no pity and no mercy.

“He knows all about what really takes place under that façade, he helps the Regent keeping it a secret. You didn’t really think he could be in that position without knowing, did you?” He says, perfect brows arched. It’s all Damen needs to know, really. It’s just a few words confirming his suspicions and now he can’t pretend his brother is a good man anymore. He thinks of Jokaste and the baby, he thinks of his unit now under the control of a monster. It’s strange, how he always thought the monster was the man now sitting in front of him, while in reality it was the one supposed to have his back. His friends like to tell Damen he has a hero complex, Damen likes to thinks he just wants to help people.

“We need to get the Akielon to side by us, by me.”

The Snake nods. Once, curt.

“You have no idea how many of them still believe that it should be you representing them instead of Kastor, they swore loyalty to you when you were nothing but a baby and they are more than willing to fight by your side, if you were to ask them.”

Its’ a bit heady, imagining all of these people looking at him and seeing a leader, trusting him with their future, with their lives. It seems like a dream.

“How do you know all of this?”

“The Resistance has eyes everywhere, one in three people is secretly a rebel or, at least, despises the Regency as much as we do.” Replies The Snake, but this time Damen finds it hard to believe him. If there is one thing the Regency does right, is extinguishing fires before they even have a chance to spark.

“It’s not possible, we search for signs of insurrection weekly all over the city.”

The Snake smiles, slow and predatory. He gives Damen a once over.

“Get ready, we’re leaving. I want to show you something.”

They exit the headquarters, Damen could make a run for it any second but The Snake knows, by know, that he won’t. Everything he’s been told it’s true, thinking that the rebels have been waiting so long to tear down the Regency with all the proof they collected is astounding. Damen is a colonel, though, he knows about strategy, he knows that things like boycotting a whole government take time. What he doesn’t know, what he couldn’t possibly imagine, is how many people believe in the cause, people living perfectly normal lives. Role model like citizens by day, rebels by night. The Snake takes him to a residential, post-card worthy neighborhood in the heart of the city, it’s Regency territory but The Snake doesn’t seem to be worried. Their car does have tinted, bulletproof windows though, and The Snake wastes no time arming himself before they leave, refusing to give Damen any sort of weapon. He whines and argues, but he’s starting to learn that there is no winning any kind of verbal spar with The Snake. When they reach the neighborhood, leaving the car parked in front of a white fenced house, The Snake reveals himself and rolls his eyes at Damen’s wide-eyed stupor. Maybe it’s the fact that no one really knows if he exists for sure –let alone what he looks like, maybe it’s because these are his people and there is no need for him to hide behind a mask.

“There’s no need for that.” He says, gesturing to Damen’s face, as they walk down the sidewalk. “This is a small bubble of rebels within Regency territory, the whole neighborhood was rebuilt after the bombings wiped it to the ground, the Regent wanted it to look like a perfect, safe oasis hence the…” He trails off, indicating the rows and rows of beautiful houses and very green, trimmed lawns.

“Then why did the rebels come live here? It doesn’t really make sense, they’re surrounded by Regency supporters.”

“They weren’t rebels, at the time. The Regent reserved the houses for war veterans as some kind of –reward, I guess. A beautiful house to compensate for loss, grief and maiming, how thoughtful.” The Snake turns to Damen, saccharine smile on his lips. “As time went by, he offered housing to some people he needed to get on his side, people who were the most likely to revolt if they ever discovered the Regency’s secrets. They’re the firsts I went to, to find support for the revolution.”

If The Snake asked them for help, it must mean he was sure of his persuading capabilities.

“How did you convince them? I imagine you didn’t have much proof at the time.”

The Snake comes to a halt so suddenly that Damen walks into his back, at that he arches a thin, blond brow and gives Damen one of his looks. It’s sharp and mysterious, it makes him look like he has a hoard of secrets that will be buried with him.

“I have my ways, now stop talking. We have arrived.”

Damen sighs –God he’s so _bossy_ –and follows him inside one of the houses.

The door is open and the first floor seems to be completely empty, they walk through the entrance hall and the living room until they reach a closed door. The room is a library and, still, there is no sign of something out of the ordinary, only shelves full of books and a fancy desk. The Snake seems unperturbed, though, he walks to the center of the room and crouches. Damen is about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he moves the rug aside, revealing a wooden trapdoor. Of course. The Snake gets ahold of the handle and pulls. Once, twice. The trapdoor barely opens. The Snake sends Damen an annoyed look.

“Come open this, you big brute.” He orders.

“Excuse me?”

The Snake straightens back to his feet, hands on his hips and chin raised high. Damen would very much like to hit him, just once, just to get that holier-than-thou expression off his face.

“You heard me.” Spits The Snake. This time, it’s Damen who smiles.

“Yes, I heard you.” He says. “But the magic word is missing.”

The Snake’s jaw twitches and, in a matter of seconds, Damen finds himself held at gunpoint. He’s not particularly worried, not when he is perfectly aware of how much the Resistance needs him. The Snake won’t kill him, he might harm him, but a bullet wound is a bit too much, even for him. So, Damen levels him with an unimpressed look and takes a step forward.

“Magic word.”

The Snake swallows, his fingers clench on the gun, but ultimately he lowers it. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘murderous’. Damen’s lips twitch.

“Please, come open this.” Grits out The Snake. “Giant animal.”

Damen almost laughs, but follows through with the demand. They step down the rickety stairs, The Snake first, of course. When they reach the bottom, they find themselves in a corridor, as narrow as it is short, leading to a closed door. The Snake knocks twice. Pause. Another two knocks. Pause. Another one. The voices that carried softly from one side of the door to the other stop immediately, then begin again, only at a much louder volume. Damen hears a few thumps and curses before someone finally comes open the door. It’s a tall man, muscular, a dog tag dangling from his neck. This is a soldier, or he used to be. He opens his mouth, but just as he’s about to speak, a blur of dark curls and shining jewels runs past him, colliding with his flank in his haste to greet the newcomers.

“Laurent!” Exclaims the boy, cheeks pink and arms crossed. Damen’s heart jumps painfully hearing that name, thinking about the child he left to die. That, somehow, dampens the shock of realizing that The Snake actually has a name. “You were supposed to be here yesterday, you said you’d be here yesterday. You’re always fucking late, I don’t understand why they let you run the whole operation. You’re so- so- unprofessional!”

Damen looks at him with intrigue, this boy can’t be older than thirteen and he’s got the courage to talk to The Snake like that. He’s a bit odd, what with the clicking earring and the bracelets and necklaces, his blue eyes are wide and shining, glaring daggers into The Snake –Laurent.

“You didn’t have to worry, we just had a slight –inconvenient this week.” Replies Laurent.

“I wasn’t _worried_!” At Damen’s side, Laurent smiles. He, honest to God, smiles. “Besides, who’s this big troll?”

Now, Damen can see why these two little devils understand each other.

“He’s the inconvenience.”

The boy turns to Damen, assessing. He looks as if he’s categorizing every single aspect of him, from his height to his build to the way he’s standing; it looks as if he’s judging how much of a threat Damen could pose. There is also a hint of fear behind those blue eyes, so fleeting that a younger Damen –someone who couldn’t care less about the art of observation –wouldn’t have been able to pick on. However, after that tenth of a second where the boy had unconsciously allowed his walls to crumble, his expression turns pinched and his eyes fall on Laurent once again. His voice comes out cold and spiteful.

“Did you let him fuck you into the mattress? I bet that’s why you’re late, he looks like he has good stamina. Great, even. I think it’s a miracle you’re standing, if you asked me.”

Damen takes a step back, as if pushed. The truth is that hearing those crude words come form a thirteen year-old makes him kind of sick. Besides him, Laurent stills. He turns so rigid Damen is scared he might cramp.

“ _Nicaise_.” He reprimands, but his voice lacks fire, it lacks its previous fondness and mischief. The boy laughs and shakes his head, he thinks of himself as the adult and Laurent as the child, it’s evident. He opens his mouth, but just as he’s about to retort the man who opened the door steps in.

“Laurent,” he says, “come in.”

The Snake does just that and Damen follows. Nicaise looks like he’s about to protest but Laurent is quick to lean into his side and whisper something in his ear. Damen sees Nicaise forcefully suppress a smile.

“We’ve been informed about the situation, we know everything. Jord sent in a message last night, but we didn’t know how to proceed. We’ve been waiting for you.” Explains the man.

He says ‘we’, as if there’s more than just them in this tiny basement. And there is, because the tiny basement opens to a much larger room where about twenty other people stop right in the middle of whatever it is they were doing at their entrance. They all stare at them for a few seconds, the silence is becoming pretty uncomfortable and Damen can’t help but look around the room in awe. The walls are littered in maps and what looks to be coded papers, arrows and circles drawn in red highlight certain parts of town and bypass others, the lines and lines of seemingly senseless letters blur into one another. Pages ripped from newspapers are thrown haphazardly on the few pieces of furniture present in the room: a couch, a table right in the middle and a few chairs scattered around. _The Regency: a new beginning for our city. Loss and grief, the Regent opens up about his family tragedy. New law against organized crime in the making, council members look proud. The Resistance: a threat to our society._ Then, the pictures. It’s the Regent, it’s his right-hand men, it’s random people Damen has never seen before. They are all caught in mundane tasks, some walking, some talking on their phones. There is one picture that makes the hair on Damen’s arms inexplicably rise, the Regent is staring straight into the camera, he’s smiling. It must be a photo taken from some kind of article or interview, it’s in black and white and it is supposed make the Regent look confident and approachable. Damen can’t stop thinking that there is something wrong in his smile, it’s threatening, it’s scary, just like the way he seems to be looking right into Damen’s soul. He’s startled out of his thoughts by shouts and greetings, the people in the room look at Laurent as if he’s some kind of myth. Damen guesses he kind of his, the mind behind the Resistance, the man who promised revenge and justice to all these people. A savior. These people who could be anyone, bakers, teachers, waiters… these people who live in white fenced houses and walk the streets of the city with no one suspecting a thing about them, so plain and normal, they all look at him as if they trust him with their lives, as if they _respect_ him. Damen turns to Laurent as well and the man smiles. It’s knowing and challenging and proud.

“See, Damianos, this is what the real Resistance looks like.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I didn't forget about this story, I promise! And I certainly plan to finish it, I'm just terrible at updating so, please, bear with me. Anyway, here's the new chapter, enjoy!

They spend the entire afternoon in a basement filled to the brim with people who should desire nothing more than Damen’s death, people who, instead, decide to open his eyes. If Laurent hadn’t managed to convince him before with his heavy envelope and heavy words, these people certainly could have. The soldier’s name is Lazar, he has a filthy mouth and an even filthier mind but he’s as devoted to the cause as they come. He tells Damen exactly that, after he’s finished with the story of how he came to enter the Resistance ranks: Lazar used to be one of the Regent’s men, a trusted man at that, but The Snake somehow managed to get him on the ‘right’ side. Damen is starting to believe it as well, that this is the right side, that a lot of the things people are being told about the rebels are utter bullshit. What strikes him the most is that everyone in the basement looks so plain normal, so unthreatening and just –ordinary. It’s no surprise that the Akielon guards must have never looked at them twice. And then there’s The Snake. There’s Laurent. God, Damen can’t stop thinking about Laurent de Vere, the fact that he and The Snake share the same hair and eyes color makes it even harder to drive away the image of that photograph, of that boy laying face down in his own blood. Damen has to suppress the urge to gag. Of course, he has let himself imagine that this Laurent might be the boy Damen once saved –or tried to. The hair, the eyes, the age… everything matches except for the fact that Damen saw his lifeless body. The de Vere boy’s face wasn’t visible, but the chances that the picture was a fake are very, very slim. Why would Laurent de Vere go against his uncle and, most of all, why would his uncle try with all his might to tarnish his own nephew’s reputation and actively  _kill_ him? No, it’s not possible, these are all mere coincidences. Maybe it serves Damen better to just believe what he’s been told and let go of all these conspiracy theories, maybe –but just maybe –he allows himself to be blind.

The Snake is Laurent, just Laurent, and he is as much an asshole as he is incredible. Damen admits it to himself through gritted teeth after no more than a few hours spent watching him as he orchestrates the rebels. Laurent has a way with words, this Damen already knew. What he didn’t know was that he could use that sharp tongue to encourage and to reward, to assert and to guide, to be a respected leader. It’s quite astounding, falling victim of his charm, knowing Damen would do everything Laurent told him to if he used that confident, smooth voice of his. That is, until he turns around and asserts Damen with a grimace and eyes so devoid of emotion that he looks a bit scary.

“What is it?” Asks Damen, rising from his seat next to a woman named Vannes. She has been educating him on the Resistance history, from the right point of view, of course. If Damen wants to help his people, he needs to fight with the rebels; if he wants to convert his army, he needs to know the exact truth about this so-called ‘criminals’.

“Come here,” orders Laurent, “we need your expertise.”

They spend the afternoon like that, Laurent asking him insights on the Regency and Damen providing them without much of a fuss, Laurent making sly comments about Damen’s way of speaking, his accent and his appearance especially after he’s said something pretty illuminating. Damen smiles knowingly and bites right back. Laurent is not pleased.

When Lazar finally announces they are done for the day, Laurent says his goodbyes and looks at Damen expectantly. Damen follows him to the door, of course, but as he thinks they are going to leave the basement Laurent turns around and faces the entirety of the room. One by one, all the people stand up solemnly. There’s a new atmosphere in the basement, something unspoken and charged hangs heavy in the air. Besides him, Laurent steps forward. He brings his right hand to his heart and pushes down on hard muscle for a few seconds, then he taps his index finger on one temple before brining it to his lips in a hushing sign. It is some kind of salute, some rehearsed movement, some symbol that unites them all.

“A hand on the heart,” speaks up Laurent, “for justice.”

The people in the room follow his words with gestures, Damen knows it is his turn as well.

“A finger to the temple for cunning.”

Damen does just that, a bit stunned, a bit –inspired.

“And a finger to the lips for secrecy.”

They come to the basement the day after and the day after that, until Laurent considers Damen ‘educated enough’. Now he knows everything about the Resistance, much more than Laurent could ever tell him with his story. Now he knows the way they operate, he knows where their bases are and who commands each one, now he knows the details of every crime the Regency has ever committed. They mention Kastor at some point, Damen is well aware it was inevitable but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He will have to go against his own family, he will have deprive Jokaste’s baby of a father. For a fleeting moment, he thinks that if Laurent was indeed the de Vere boy, Damen might understand why he would betray his uncle. It’s just that, though, a fleeting moment followed by Vannes’ hand waving in front of his face and Laurent’s disapproving stare. Leave it to him to catch Damen the one, single time he dozes off.

So, it’s been a week when Laurent decides that their time at the basement is over. Now they will need to start scheming and planning for their big campaign and, to do that, they need to be at the headquarters. The people here smile at Damen as if he’s always been one of them, as if he’s not _Damianos Akielos_. They wave goodbye and pat his back and tell him they’ll se each other soon, they perform their salute and thank Laurent for being with them this whole time, they know he’s very busy, they appreciate him making time for them. It’s right then and there that the door slams wide open. Both Damen and Laurent have their guns out in no second, Damen hears safeties clicking from numerous parts of the room, but they needn’t have worried. It’s Lazar, Lazar who has been on a mission in the city and was supposed to come back in a few days. It’s Lazar looking frantic and disheveled and breathing hard.

Laurent takes control of the situation immediately.

“Everybody, put your guns down and stay calm. Lazar, tell us what’s going on.”

It takes the man a few seconds to catch his breath, but when he does, words start spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“He was supposed to meet me two days ago, he was supposed to be there a three but he wasn’t. I told him exactly where I would be and when to approach, but he wasn’t there! I waited two days because fuck knows what shit might happen, especially with him because of –you know. But I waited two days and he still didn’t show up and then I found this.”

Lazar stops rambling abruptly. He extends one hand, there is something shiny on his palm but Damen can’t make out what it is exactly. He looks at Laurent, instead. Laurent, who tenses immediately. He pales, Damen didn’t think someone with skin so white could _pale_. He watches him swallow once, twice before turning to the people in the room and barking at them to get back to work. No one dares disobey him.

“What’s going on?” Asks Damen, but Laurent completely ignores him.

“Lazar, you need to tell me exactly where you found this. We need to gather some of our soldiers and break into the new Tower. Pronto. We need –we need-“

“Stop.” It takes Damen a moment to realize he’s the one who said that, that he has a hand around Laurent’s arm and that he has insinuated himself in front of him, blocking Lazar from view. It’s instinct, when a soldier was panicking during a mission he used to take them by the shoulders and press their foreheads together, so that they could breathe in unison and slowly calm down. He knows he can’t do that now, he knows Laurent would have his head if he dared touch him just a bit more, but he couldn’t help himself. It works, actually, because Laurent stops talking, distracted by the weight of Damen’s touch. A touch that is unwanted, this much Damen can gather, which is why he withdraws his hand immediately. He doesn’t step back, though.

“Don’t you dare.” Hisses Laurent, eyes hard.

“You were panicking.”

“I was not.” Replies Laurent, a bit like a petulant child. A bit like a scared man.  Damen ignores him.

“Listen to me, you weren’t making any sense.” Laurent opens his mouth to speak, but Damen raises his voice. “You want to break into the new Tower? I can tell you already that is a suicide mission. It’s impenetrable. You need to think this through, whatever it is that you want to do. And I can help you.”

“ _I don’t have time_.” He pushes out, strained and thick. He stands there with big, blue eyes giving him away, if one were to look at him right now they’d see nothing more than a perfectly composed, icy man. Damen looks into his eyes and catches a glimpse of desperation.

“It’s what I’m here for, I know a lot more about the Regency recent developments than you do and that is one of the reasons why you let me live. You wanted me? Put me to use.”

Laurent stares at him for a long, long time. Damen is starting to fear he might have crossed a line, he is used to being the one in command, he is used to being listened to and obeyed. This submission does not belong with him and there is nothing he can do about it, the part of him that wants to order and command will always push through, but something tells him that Laurent already knows that. If there is one thing he has learnt about this man, is that Laurent is almost unbelievably observant and smart as a fox. Beauty and brains are a deathly match.

“Alright.” He says, Damen sighs in relief. “We can go back to headquarters and plan an alternative way.”

Damen can work with that, he tells Laurent as much and even manages to earn himself one of his infamous icy glares. He is back to normal. Before they leave, though, Damen needs to know who it is Laurent is so desperate to rescue. When he asks, Laurent’s back goes straight, it’s the only sign he might be still affected by this whole ordeal. Laurent does not look at him when he says: “Nicaise.”

 

***

 

It feels like being in an alternate dimension, it doesn’t feel like being back to headquarters, nor being in the basement. It’s just Damen and Laurent in a small room. There is even a window. It is a library, why Laurent would create a place like this inside what is supposed to be a military base is beyond Damen, but here they are. Laurent headed straight for it when they stepped out of the car. There are shelves and shelves filled with books, some titles Damen recognizes, there are a few books he remembers reading as a child when his father insisted he should learn Veretian. _Know your enemy_ , typical Theomedes. Damen misses him, sometimes. What stings the most is that he didn’t die in the war, no, it was some kind of virus that spread after the bombings. Theomedes, his father, the president: a man larger than life, a man who succumbed to a thing no more than some nanometers big.

The library is furnished with a plush sofa and an antique wooden table. It does feel like being in another dimension altogether, someplace before the war, before the bombings destroyed the beauty of Veretian and Akielon art. Palaces, villas, museums… everything went down in ashes, grey and black and white. Lifeless. This place, though, is alive. It is as alive as the light in Laurent’s eyes as he sits at the table in front of Damen, with blueprints under his gaze and a stubborn set to his jaw.

“What is this place?” Can’t help himself Damen, it’s a legitimate question, even Laurent must know a library like this is –unusual, at best. He looks up, his delicate features devoid of emotion. Once again, Damen finds himself admiring his beauty and wondering why a man blessed with such looks acts as if he does not possess them. Laurent carries himself as a being with no body at all, he is his mind first and a man second. It’s fascinating.

“We’re here to discuss Nicaise’s rescue.” He says, sharp as knife, as always. Damen gives him a look, an arched brow and somewhat pleading eyes. Another thing Damen has learnt, is that sometimes words are better off not spoken with Laurent.

“This is where I think best.” Explains Laurent, quick and nonchalant and daring Damen to comment on it. Damen leaves it at that.

“Why is it so important to save Nicaise?” He asks, instead, because he does have a brain to mouth filter, but also feels this inexplicable need to find out what makes Laurent tick. The man’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, but he is quick to recompose himself and put on one of his acts. He arches both brows, golden and thin and elegant, and parts his mouth in shock.

“Why you honorable barbarian, would you leave a defenseless fourteen year-old in the hands of a monster?”

Damen doesn’t buy it. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Concedes Laurent, a bit too easy for Damen’s tastes. “Sometimes I think I have you all figured out, but then you just –forget it.”

It’s a bit of a shock, hearing those words, watching Laurent get all flustered and, unbelievably, advert his gaze. Damen gives him his time.

“You have seen the documents we have on the Regency human trafficking ring, there is girls and women, and then there is boys.”

Damen knows this, he has examined enough unpublished articles and banned police reports. It does not make him any less disgusted with the Regent.

“The Regent likes his boys young and impressionable, he hosts dinner parties and lunch parties and even breakfast parties, you can guess what the main dishes are.” There is an edge to Laurent’s tone, something dark. Damen can’t blame him, not when he finds his hands closed into fists by his sides and his jaw clenched tight in anger. “He has favorites, of course, his own personal pets. Nicaise is one of them.”

“And he works for the Resistance?”

“He does.” Nods Laurent.

“How?”

Laurent smiles that cold, unaffected smile of his and says: “none of your business.”

It is such a Laurent thing to say that a huff leaves Damen’s lips, when he registers it’s an aborted laugh it’s too late. Laurent is looking at him like a –like a lost boy. Confused, distrusting, surprised. Damen wonders how long it has been since someone laughed at something he said.

“What’s so funny?” He spits, indignant. It makes him even more endearing and Damen smiles, despite himself. Laurent’s eyes narrow even further in suspicion.

“Sometimes you are very dramatic, did you know?”

Laurent recoils, a movement so small that someone else might have never noticed. Damen did, though.

“Whatever.” He says and, for once, he sounds exactly like the twenty year-old he is supposed to be. “Anyway, I’m sure you understand how important Nicaise is.”

“To the cause, or to you?”

Laurent stills and says: “you are quite presumptuous today.”

“When am I not?” Smiles Damen, Laurent stares at him unimpressed. After that, Laurent doesn’t give him any more chances to lighten up the mood and Damen accepts it easily enough, they need to be at the best of their faculties if they want to plan Nicaise’s rescue. There’s this burning, controlled rage in Damen’s guts that he can’t extinguish, it’s scalding and born from utter disgust in regard to the Regent and his fucked up tastes. It makes Damen want to beat him to death, to avenge every single one of the boys he lay hands on, it makes him want to burst into the new Tower guns first and fire a hit right into his rotting heart. He can’t, though, that is the only thing Laurent says when Damen unconsciously speaks his thoughts. _You can’t_ , that’s it. It is unnerving, watching Laurent bask in his calm, as if he does not care about those kids, as if he does not care about Nicaise and has all the time in the world. It’s not true, though, Damen knows it. Damen remembers it. _I don’t have time_. So, they plan. They spend the night going over blueprints and photos and all the data the rebels managed to collect in the few weeks since the new Tower was inaugurated. Damen tries to recall every detail lodged in his brain, every room, every corridor. It is not that easy, he has been to the Tower only a handful of times and certainly never stepped into the Regent’s quarters. He tries anyway and Laurent appreciates it in his own way, listening in silence.

When the sun rises, Damen is exhausted, both mentally and physically, while Laurent shows no sign of fatigue, but Damen expected as much. He brings his arms up and cracks his back, humming in content. He feels Laurent’s eyes on him and ignores him, there is no way they can dig up any more info about the Tower. This is everything they have, now it’s time to gather up their most competent soldiers and act. Laurent is not of the same opinion, apparently.

“It’s going to be the two of us. I wanted to go alone, but you might be useful.”

“Are you crazy? You want to infiltrate the enemy base, an impeccably defended base at that, with no backup whatsoever?”

“That is correct.” Nods Laurent as he stands up, gracious and silent. Damen does the same, the chair behind him screeches against the floor.

“We won’t make it out alive.” Insists Damen following Laurent, but the man doesn’t stop. He keeps walking across the library, to the door.

“Laurent, this is insane!”

Laurent stops abruptly. He turns around and Damen realizes he is angry. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed, a few locks of hair escaped his ponytail and hang in disarray around his face. One is stuck to his lips, Damen suppresses the urge to reach for it. Another thing Damen has learnt: Laurent looks very, very pretty when he dares show his emotions.

“You served your purpose, now do as I say. If I remember correctly, and I do, you’re a prisoner here. I’m _The Snake_.”

“I’m not going to follow you to death.”

“Then, I’m going alone.”

And with that, he leaves.

 

***

 

Damen does not sleep, he spends the day in the training room sparring with Jord and Orlant. They are good, but he is better. He is angry and frustrated and so, so unnerved by Laurent’s behavior. Relieving tension in the best way he knows is exactly what his body and his mind need. If he imagines hitting a certain blond’s face, nobody has to know.

“What has gotten into you, man?” Asks Orlant, out of breath, a new bruise already forming on his cheek where Damen hit him with a bit too much force. They’re both sprawled on the mattress of the training room, it’s blissfully empty.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you look pretty angry.” Orlant lays a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. They keep quiet for a few minutes, regaining their breath. The thing is, Damen is pretty much fed up with Laurent’s antics. He asked for his help, he wanted his expertise and now he decides to completely ignore Damen’s suggestions. He is a colonel, he led a team at the age of nineteen during one of the most important missions of the war. He made his mistakes –Damen is not above admitting it –but the mission was successful. Since then, he has learnt much more. Laurent completely disregarding his indications has been slowly driving him mad the whole day long.

“How can you stand Laurent’s crazy ideas?” Asks Damen, out of the blue. Orlant raises an eyebrow at him, Damen can’t tell if it’s because he overstepped or because he called Laurent by his real name. At least, he smiles after.

“What did he say this time?”

Damen shakes his head, dismissive. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, the first time I was sent on a mission for the Resistance, The Snake told me I shouldn’t keep my vest on. It was a breaking and entering kind of thing, the house was supposed to be empty but –well, you never knows these days, right?”

Damen nods.

“I was scared shitless, if the mission ended in a storm I was fucked. Thing is, in the house there were hostiles, indeed, but they took one look at us and didn’t even bat an eyelid. They thought we were _backup_ , we didn’t have our vests on and they didn’t recognize us. He’s a smart boy, that one.”

That evening, Damen is in his room staring pointlessly at the ceiling. He has been to dinner, Laurent wasn’t there. He knows that he won’t leave for the Tower until everyone is asleep, not for another hour at least. There is no doubt that Laurent will go, he is determined and sure of himself and, most of all, he is unstoppable. No one would dare say a world to him, they’d all let him go, trusting him to do the right thing. Laurent’s word seems to be law, not because he forces it upon the rebels, but because they all recognize it as such of their own volition. The fact that Laurent has his own plan does not help the situation: no one except for Damen knows of his intentions, Lazar, maybe, but he is at the basement. No one would stop Laurent from walking to his own death, not even Damen. He has tried and he has not succeeded. If he can’t stop him, he can at least help him. With a sigh, he stands and dresses in the mission clothes the rebels provided him with. Jesus _Christ, Damen, what are you doing?_ He exits his room and heads to the place he is sure to find Laurent in.

When he walks into the library Laurent does not turn to greet him.

“Took you long enough.” He says instead, Damen can hear the smugness in his tone.

“You look like nobody ever makes you wait, I wanted to change that.” Bites back Damen. Now, Laurent does turn around. When Damen allows himself to really look at him, he nearly has a heart attack. Laurent is dressed in black. In a black, from fitting, one piece suit. There’s a zip on the side, it runs from his hip to the last of his ribs. It is clearly a professional suit, the material looks flame-retardant and anti-rip. Everything looks –well, _tight_. Very, very tight. Damen swallows and then promptly snaps his gaze back to Laurent’s face to find it, of course, devoid of expression. Except –except from a small frown on his forehead. His hair is gathered in a high ponytail –its long length tightly braided –and, inevitably, his sharp features stand out more than usual. It’s striking, the way the suit highlights his muscular physique, while his features sway on the line between androgynous and simply delicate. He looks like a panther, ready to snap his jaws and cut off everyone’s unwanted touch. The face of an angel and the mind of a strategist, it is what his own people think of him. They respect him and they believe in him, talking about his morals and his strength, but the passing comments on his beauty are never far behind. Damen knows he should stop noticing these things as well, especially before a mission, but he simply can’t. He has been told he has a type enough times to accept it as a fact; Laurent, unfortunately, fits his type to a tee. He clears his throat and Damen is brought back to reality.

“Should I wear one of those, too?” He asks, only half jokingly.

“I’m afraid we,” says Laurent, assessing him pointedly from had to toe, “don’t have one that fits you.”

“Too bad.”

Damen is aware of the fact that no other person would get away with what he is saying in Laurent’s presence, he is aware that he plays a major role in this whole operation and even though he was assigned no rank, he’s still far above Jord’s and Orlant’s. He is Laurent’s equal and they both know it, so Damen will allow himself the privilege of responding to Laurent in kind.

“I’m confident I won’t need to explain everything to you before we go, you do know how to follow orders, right?” And there he goes, refusing to acknowledge what Damen is sure he has noticed. It’s rhetorical and Laurent expects no answer, so Damen doesn’t give him one. He stands there, biting his tongue, following him out of the door like a bodyguard. If he looks appreciatively at his ass in the damned suit, Laurent does not need to know.

 

***

 

This time, they don’t take a car. Once they are armed, they reach the garage walking in the shadows of the headquarters, the guards on shift act as if they don’t even see them. When they bypass most of the cars parked in there, Damen begins to suspect they might have someone waiting for them on the outside, that is the exact moment Laurent throws a helmet at him.

“You do know how to drive a bike, right.” It comes out as a statement, not a question. Damen nods, although he expected Laurent to be the one in control, especially since Damen is not very familiar with this part of the city. He tells him that.

“If you go behind me, we’ll be off balance, what with your ridiculous size.”

Damen wonders for a split second if Laurent realizes what his words sound like, but he is standing there, looking at him expectantly and utterly clueless. Alright, then. Damen puts his helmet on and watches Laurent do the same, his muscles stretch with the movement and the suit only accentuates them. Damen adverts his eyes. He climbs onto the bike Laurent indicates him: it is a black, sleek, powerful beauty and the only thing that comes to Damen’s mind is how it perfectly fits Laurent. _Jesus_. He feels Laurent settle behind him, his chest brushing against Damen’s back, the curve of his thighs dragging against his as he straddles the bike before disappearing at once, as if Laurent deliberately put as much space as he could between them.

“You’ll have to come closer, sweetheart.” Smirks Damen. Laurent does not answer. “You need to put your arms around me or you’ll fly right off.”

Damen can’t see Laurent’s face, but it’s not so hard to imagine his reluctant expression as he shuffles forward and hesitantly places his arms around Damen’s torso. With a twist of Damen’s wrist and a roar, the bike comes to life and Laurent’s arms tighten around him, subconsciously. In a few seconds they are off in the night, as Damen drives down the streets following Laurent’s indications. The bike is hot and purring between his legs, Laurent is warm and smooth at his back. City lights flash around them once they leave the old, half-destroyed buildings behind and enter the new city. The city of the banks and the corporations and the luxury hotels.

It doesn’t take them long to reach a safe place close enough to the Tower that they won’t tire themselves to walk there, but not too close to risk arousing suspicion. They leave the bike and proceed on foot, silent and hidden as best as they can. The tower’s first line of protection is two miles before the actual building and consists of sentinels perched on the rooftops that precede it, getting past them shouldn’t be too difficult if they manage to work their way from fire escape to fire escape. The sentinels will focus on the main road, although some of them will undoubtedly be observing the hidden streets and corners as well. What Damen and Laurent need to do is distract them, Laurent’s plan, of course. Damen gives him a look.

“They’ll think it’s just kids playing with firecrackers.”

“Why the hell would kids come play this close to the Tower? Everyone knows it’s heavily guarded.”

Laurent looks at him dead in the eyes before pulling out of thin air a small, compact box and pressing the button there is on top. Damen is going to kill him, he is going to fucking kill –the explosions come from afar, but it’s enough to startle the sentinels they have spotted. Damen doesn’t have time to think about it, he starts running as fast as he can, following Laurent. They run and jump and run as the explosions continue, until they make it in front of the tower, squeezed between a car and a van. Miraculously, no one shoots them. He is alive, _they_ are alive. They made it. Everything feels surreal, like Damen stood watching as a clone ran all the way here. He is breathing hard and still so out of it that it takes him a long time to realize Laurent is laughing. Laurent, who is splayed all over Damen’s chest because it is the only way they can fit in the space between the vehicles. Damen can feel Laurent’s chest rumbling as he presses a hand to his mouth to stifle any sound.

“What the hell, Laurent?” Hisses Damen. Slowly, Laurent clams down enough to raise his head and look at Damen. It’s –well, Damen’s breath hitches and he can’t do anything to stop it. The thing is, Laurent is looking up at him with those big eyes and those long lashes and he’s so, so close and there’s still a trace of amusement in the curve of his lips. He is breathtaking and Damen is only human. He must be making an odd expression, though, because Laurent adverts his eyes as if embarrassed. It is dark out here, but Damen could swear he sees his cheeks flush. The moment is gone in a matter of seconds, a static sound comes from somewhere on Laurent’s suit and turns out to be a small walkie-talkie, Laurent tunes it to the right frequency and suddenly everything makes sense: the firecrackers –or whatever it is that exploded –had been placed long before they left for the mission by Laurent himself, Damen is sure. Far enough that they wouldn’t be too suspicious and cause the sentinels to give the alarm, but close enough to distract them for a few precious minutes. The walkie-talkie must be stolen, something tells Damen this was Lauren’t doing as well, and it reproduces perfectly the conversation between the sentinels. Indeed, they are blaming s _tupid, fucking kids. One day they’ll blow their heads off._

“Is there anything else you have planned that I might be better off knowing?” Asks Damen, half annoyed, half annoyingly amazed. _He is a smart boy, that one_. Laurent seems to still be in a mood, his eyes full of mischief as he looks up at Damen once again. This time, he holds his gaze.

“You know the tunnel you told me about, the one connecting the sewer system to the Tower?”

Damen has a feeling he already knows where this is going, he nods anyway.

“It is right under our feet, we can jump right in through this grate.”

Of course. Of course they wouldn’t be hiding in this spot for no reason at all. Laurent has already planned the whole mission and Damen should have expected it, he is not a man that leaves anything to chance.

“What are you waiting for?” Smiles Laurent, he  _smiles_. It is sharp and small, but it is amused. “Tear it off.”

God, not again. Damen stands there, a bit incredulous, and it is only after some interminable seconds of a stare off between Laurent and him, that he gives in and goes for the grate. The metal is old and not exactly fixed to its borders, it comes away easily enough. There are a few steps nestled on the wall, fading into the black of the tunnel. Damen turns around to find Laurent staring.

“Come on.” He says. Laurent does.

They land with a splash, there is a small stream of opaque water running down the concrete floor. It smells bad, of course it does. The tunnel is fairly big, Laurent can easily walk stretching to his whole height but Damen has to duck. The entire situation seems to only serve to amuse Laurent, who looks at Damen with little more than insolence on his face.

“Follow me.” He orders and Damen can only do so. They walk for a few minutes before reaching a crossroad. Laurent, in front of him, stops abruptly and Damen walks right into his back.

“Ouch, you giant animal.” Hisses Laurent. Damen mumbles a half-assed apology. “We are going to turn right. There is a door to the basement of the Tower, it is obviously guarded but I’ve already timed the guards’ shift. We can go in three, two-“

“Laurent!”

“One.”

And once again, Damen finds himself running top-speed behind Laurent, their feet splashing in the water. Laurent’s braid is slowly coming undone from all of their running, Damen focuses on his blonde hair, a beacon. In between shifts, the guards apparently leave the door unlocked –which is stupid to say the least –because Laurent opens it easily, with no key or lock pick set. They find themselves in a basement, it houses the central heating and some of the plumbing. There is a staircase leading to yet another door, which Damen knows opens to a corridor, it is the only way in and Laurent starts heading towards it with no hesitation. Damen’s hand on his arm is unexpected, he jumps slightly as if waking from a dream.

“What are you doing?” He scolds him, “we need to wait for the new guards to arrive, then we can go.”

Laurent looks a bit lost, like he doesn’t even know what he was doing himself. There is something about this mission that has Laurent acting quite weird, making mistakes, succumbing to adrenaline. Damen has no time to dwell on these things, though, he drags Laurent behind a heap of boxes and the man comes easily enough. He doesn’t even snatch his arm away from Damen’s touch. It is very odd.

Once the guard has entered the basement and taken his place outside the door, they make their way up the stairs. Laurent seems to be back to himself, he even pushes Damen away when he tries to go first. It makes him hide a smile. They move swiftly along corridors and empty rooms, the whole floor seems to be completely lifeless and Laurent must be aware of it, as he proceeds with no gun in hand. Behind him, Damen doesn’t dare let his guard down. The real struggle will come with rising to the upper floors, Damen has no idea where Nicaise might be and the Tower is a thirty floors building. Laurent, though, keeps advancing surely and something tells Damen he knows exactly where to go.

“We need an elevator.” He says as he keeps moving. “We’ll use the one for staff, the maids and whatnot.”

Indeed, Laurent has everything planned and Damen should not be surprised. If this were his mission, he would have planned every single detail as well, but at least he would have had the decency to explain it all to his people. Laurent happens to believe that the less people know about his thinking, the best. What he still does not realize, is that he doesn’t have to be alone. He needs someone to share his burdens with, or he’ll end up crushed under the weight. Damen doesn’t say a word, though, he doesn’t even know why he cares so much about this man, first impressions certainly weren’t in his favor.

“This is it.”

Incredibly, they get to the elevator without encountering anyone. They press the button and ready themselves with their guns raised and a finger on the trigger. When the doors open, they find it empty. Damen looks at Laurent, but the man is staring straight ahead, impassible. As they step in Damen can’t stop thinking that-

“This is too easy.” Says Laurent, his tone even.

“They know we’re here.” Agrees Damen, the weight of those words settles heavy on his chest. If it’s true –and, deep down, he knows it is –there is going to be a surprise waiting for them on the other side of the elevator doors. They will be outnumbered for sure, and as much as they might both be great agents, they won’t make it out alive. The fact that Damen doesn’t really know if Laurent is as good with a gun as rumor has it is even more disheartening.

“What do we do?” He asks, there is just a tiny hint of panic in his voice, he hopes Laurent won’t notice.

“This.” And with that, Laurent presses a red button: the elevator comes to a halt. Damen doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

“You don’t even know where we are!” He shouts, anger getting the best of him, “we might be on a floor full of hostiles or, worse, in the middle of two fucking floors.”

Laurent doesn’t say anything, he stares at him with those arrogant eyes of his while Damen tries to keep himself from punching his pretty face.

“Do you,” he says, at last, “think me that stupid?” Now, it is Damen’s turn to stare as Laurent tries to pry the doors open. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he weren’t sure of their position –not Laurent, who has to analyze each situation form every single point of view. So, Damen helps him.

They are in what looks like the lobby of an office, the lights are off and there is a big desk to their left. Behind it, glass doors. In front of it, two guards, hands on their guns. Damen doesn’t even think before he shoots them both. A clear shot in the head, they don’t make a single sound. He ignores Laurent’s icy eyes boring into him and asks: “how did you know where we’d be?”

“It’s been forty-five seconds.” Says Laurent, simple as that. Forty-five seconds and – _oh_. He had been counting, he knew exactly how long it would take the elevator to reach this floor.

“You knew they’d discover us.” Accuses him Damen.

“I also knew what floor they were expecting us to be, now get a move.”

 

***

 

When Laurent finally stops, they have officially climbed twenty flights of stairs and killed twelve guards. Some of them were Akielon, Damen doesn’t let himself think about it. Laurent is exactly as good with a gun as rumor has it and he is not afraid to use it, in this kind of situation it is certainly a welcomed fact.

“This is the right floor, the Regent’s rooms. We can’t just step through that door, though-”

“I figured as much.” Interrupts Damen.

“-which is why I’m going to get in through the air vent and you’re going to wait for me here.”

The words take awhile to register but, when they do, Damen can’t help his incredulity.

“What?”

“You heard me, it’s the only way to get in and there is no way you’d ever fit in there.”

“I’m not letting you go in there without me! I came with you for a reason, if I’d wanted you dead I would have let you go alone.”

“And I would make it alone!”

Damen is going to do something stupid like throw Laurent against the wall and shut him the fuck up, somehow. He can’t do that, of course, they are already being too loud. So, he turns around and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. If he wants to reason with Laurent, if he wants to _make_ him reason, he needs to be calm. When he turns around, Laurent looks as steady and controlled as ever.

“This is very stupid.” Says Damen.

“This is the only way.” Damen is about to reply in kind, but Laurent cuts him off. “Have I lead you wrong tonight? Do you believe I didn’t think of every single, possible way?”

The thing is, Laurent is right. Damen is aware that if he could be of use, Laurent wouldn’t hesitate to make use of him, but he is also aware that Laurent is used to doing things by himself.

“I’m here to help you, you need to accept it.”

“Damianos, the only thing I _need_ to do is get Nicaise out of this place and you are not going to stop me.”

This time, when Laurent jumps down a few steps and goes straight for the air vent, Damen can’t stop him. He doesn’t grab him by the arm, he doesn’t talk him out of his crazy idea. He just stands there and watches him go, cursing at empty air. He is of half a mind to follow Laurent, but he was right and Damen wouldn’t fit in the air vent. He even thinks about finding another way, walking through the door and meet face on the guards he finds on the way. Alone and with no idea where to go. No, it wouldn’t work, he is much more useful to Laurent alive. All he can do is wait. And hope.

He can tell it has been more than half a hour since Laurent has left, and Damen hasn’t moved his eyes from the air vent, waiting for it to open and for Laurent to give him a petty look and say ‘I told you so.’ It’s the door that bursts open, though, and Laurent comes right out of it. Niciase is a lump in his arms, covered by blanket.

“Run!” Shouts Laurent, speeding past Damen down the stairs. He stands there, dumbfounded and paralyzed, for a few seconds until a cascade of bullets rains on the wall behind him. He ducks and shoots some bullets of his own before following Laurent’s path as fast as he can. It’s guards, five or six of them and they have a vantage point. Damen can see Laurent just a floor down, carrying Nicaise is slowing him down. Damen reaches him quickly, his ears are ringing and people are shouting and it’s all complete chaos. He makes a split-second decision and forcefully grabs Nicaise from Laurent’s arms, hoisting him over his shoulder as he continues to run down the stairs and blindly shoot behind him. If Laurent has something to say, it gets lost to the noise of the storm. At least, they are alive, and they are still miraculously alive when they reach the bottom of the stairs. From a door to their left enters another wave of hostiles and Damen feels a bullet graze his arm. The pain doesn’t come, not with the levels of adrenaline cursing through his system, not when he needs to think, to get them out alive, to-

“This way!” Shouts Laurent and promptly shoots the lock of a door that, incredibly, opens to a back alley. They’re outside, but they won’t make it past the sentinels. They might even fit on the bike, but they won’t ever get to it, not when they have a dozen guards running after them and expert sentinels on the roofs that flank the Tower. They are dead, Damen is starting to give up when Laurent turns back from shooting a guard in the chest and grabs Damen’s sleeve.

“That’s ours!” He shouts. There is car at the end of the alley, a car with a driver hopefully, that Damen has no clue whatsoever how got past the sentinels. He doesn’t have time to think of it, though, not when they’re running for their lives. A bullet swishes right beside his ear, it sounds deafening and, for a moment, Damen is scared it might have hit him. There is no blood though, he’ll check it better later, if they make it out alive. It is a true miracle when they get to the car waiting for them with open doors and motor already running. They throw themselves in the back seat, and it speeds away before they even close the doors. Bullets keep raining down on the bodywork for a few meters, but it seems that nobody expected them to have a car because no vehicles start chasing it down. The car is too fast for the sentinels as well and, in a matter of minutes, they are completely out of gunshot. Damen allows himself to loosen his muscles and slump in the seat. Laurent has taken Nicaise out of his hold, Damen hadn’t even noticed, and is cradling him in his arms like a baby. It’s –it’s sweet. Damen wants to say something, anything, but finds himself unable to. His breathing is still too labored and words die in his throat, beside him, Laurent looks just as disheveled. A voice comes from the front seat, then, from the driver Damen so desperately hoped would be there.

“Well, hello Damen.”

It’s Nikandros.


End file.
